


Bulletproof.

by Shalaidah



Series: The Afghan Whigs [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Friendship/Love, Multi, Mutually Unrequited, friendship is underated, the entire gang is basically mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7508878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shalaidah/pseuds/Shalaidah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long day, Varric and Hawke enjoy a rare drink alone. Sometimes that's all friends can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bulletproof.

**Author's Note:**

> The odd mixture of of caring and affection between Hawke and Varric has always moved me. I think sometimes we can love our friends deeply, but have been taught that all love is either familial or romantic. So we are unable to process the deep love of a friend to be just that. And sometimes we do just love our friends :D. You decide.

_"To tell the truth, to tell it well,_  
_It all depends upon the liar…_  
_Go to sleep, it's over now,_  
_A final prayer for my friend._  
_You tell that fool, to make it good,_  
_You have to start at the end._ "

[ _**Bulletproof by the Afghan Whigs.** _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYfw5NfcmBk)

“When they turned back to the chair, there was nothing left of him but a shriveled pickle. And that, my fine audience, is why you never sit in a chair that was saved for The Champion.”

The wide-eyed audience surrounding Varric backed away slowly; both in awe of his story and furtively glancing around them. They knew that if the author had reserved a chair, likely he was expecting company. So when they spotted the robed character, looking slightly bloodier that usual, they hurriedly dispersed.

Hawke gratefully slumped into the chair across from the dwarf and signaled for Norah to bring her a round. When Norah brought the usual to their table, Hawke raised a suspicious brow at their rather vacant surroundings. “Been telling stories about me again, Varric?”

Varric grinned cheekily and shrugged. “Can I help it if I am friends with the most notorious mage in Kirkwall? Or is most popular? I can never remember the difference.”

Hawke scoffed. “The day you forget what a word means is the day one of your stories is actually true. Speaking of, finished _Hard in Hightown_ yet? I think Aveline has mostly forgotten she was going to kill you after the last chapter.”

Varric grimaced lightly at the reminder. In retrospect, the somewhat lurid description of Donnen Brennokovic’s romantic consummation with a certain orange haired lady might have gone a step too far. He’d have to consider if it should be included in the compilation after he’d finished the serials. That is, if he wanted to remain in Kirkwall with his head attached to his shoulders. “I don’t know Hawke. Lately I’ve been thinking someone needs to share the tales of a certain Kirkwall mage and her notorious companions. I’m thinking, _The Champion Does Kirkwall.”_

“That’s awful. Besides, its already been done by some Templar Cartoonist. The things Orsino and I have apparently gotten up to are disturbing to say the least.”

He thought he’d paid to have all of those destroyed. When he’d seen the explicit drawings of Hawke his first reaction had been rather violent. Realizing he couldn’t storm into the Tower, he’d settled for bribing some other Templars into making the hack's life hell. After his uniform had been mysteriously lost for the fourth time, he’d asked for a transfer out to Ostwick. That Hawke had seen them after all; well someone was going to owe him quite a refund. And a good ass-kicking.

“Where’s Rivani?” He scanned the bar looking for their dark haired friend. “Its not like her to miss get-togethers where free alcohol is guaranteed. Broody too, for the free food.”

Hawk flashed him an overly bright smile. She leaned over as if to depart some juicy gossip. “I guess you didn’t hear, but apparently two members of our little group have been canoodling. And made plans to do so tonight.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, the gesture in no way convincing on her strained face.

Damn it he thought to himself, recalling their two heads murmuring together as Hawke cast her healing spells. They wouldn’t have, not right in front of Hawke? But seeing her expression he recalled the sage advise of never underestimating the stupidity of the living. “You know Hawke, I’m sure its all just in fun. Nothing serious about it.”

Hawke feigned surprise, her eyes just a tad too open-wide. “Why would it be any of my business?” I’m glad my friends are having fun. With this crazy city we could all use a bit of fun, eh?”

“Hawke, it’s probably not…”

She cut him off and kept rambling. “Besides, would it be so bad if it was something serious? Neither of them is attached to anyone else. Isabela is probably perfect to help Fenris adjust to his new life. And he can at least put a stop to some of her crazier schemes. I’m pleased for them, really. Pleased. Pleased pleased pleased.” Her voice cracked a little as she drowned the last of her bottle.

He leaned forward. “It doesn’t mean…”

She learned in towards him. “So, any plans on telling me who Bianca is yet?”

He scooted back, confused and wary at the change of topics. “You know Bianca. Beautiful coloring, makes musical sounds as she fires at the crowd.”

“Cut the bullshit Varric. If we’re going to share, it’ll be a two way street.”

He looked at his friend, his heart clenching a little as he did so. She was perhaps the easiest person around whom he’d ever spun stories. In one instant she was the ruthless vigilante, destroying a horde of pirates while the City Guard hid in terror. At other times she was the charming flirt, making friends even with the most terrifying of Arishoks for whom she alone was worthy of respect and conversation. She even effortlessly filled the role of paragon, selflessly fighting off a dragon’s nest (he hadn’t even needed to make that one up), while miners ran for their lives. Every one of those versions of Hawke was true, but perhaps Varric alone knew that they were also crap. Oh, she was a ruthless, charming little saint. But that was to hide how desperately lonely and afraid she was. He understood it, because he was the same.

“I think if we’re going to drink halla tonight, we deserve something a little better.” He signaled Nora over to the table, who took her sweet time in arriving. “Nora, give me two bottles of the finest drink in the house.”

The barmaid rolled her eyes. “And whaddaya think this is, the Viscount’s estate? I’ll bring you back some paint thinner instead of dog piss.”

“Now Nora” he smiled engagingly, "I’ll make it worth your while. See if in those dusty bottles you have something a step above even that.”

She sighed heavily, but headed to the backroom. Annoying as he may be, the dwarf was always true to his word with coin. She retuned some minutes later with two bottles in hand.

Hawke took the bottles as Varric chatted his thanks. Dusting off the first, she read “Butterbile 7…something. I can’t make it out. I don’t know this one.”  
  
Looking at the similar, second bottle, which was even more indistinguishable than the first, he shrugged his shoulders. “We can read it, or we can drink it.”

At that they both opened the bottles, and took a healthy sip. Varric grinned appreciatively while Hawke took a second sip. “Why Varric, this is only half bad! Forget paint-thinner. Too much of this and I might begin to recall what its like to have stomach lining.”

He chuckled and leaned back, bottle in hand. Unlike when their friends were here, he and Hawke often sat in companionable silence. There was no awkward pause, because they felt no awkwardness between them. While he might occasionally fancy himself halfway in love with her, he was still nostalgically in love completely with someone else. And at this stage in his life, he thought perhaps unrequited love was the only type he had talent for. Made for better stories. And Hawke…well she did tragic better than anyone he’d ever known. A group full of misfits angling for any bit of her affection, and yet she still somehow thought herself unworthy.

Because that’s what truly drove Hawke. Not a burning desire for justice, not boredom, not even vengeance. Oh she felt all those things. She was too damn heroic for her own good. But Hawke also acted as she did because she blamed herself for every failure, every loss, and every death in her life. Being born a mage to a family already on the run? Check. Not being powerful enough to heal her father? Check. Bethany’s death, Leandra’s death especially? Failing to talk down the Arishock? He didn’t know where the list in her head ended, but he knew Hawke well enough to know that she likely had them memorized as a litany she repeated in candlelight vigils.

“Does it ever get easier?” she asked quietly, not meeting his eyes.

He paused before answering. Somewhere in the city the elf denied his love by loving someone else. Bela ran from her rare affection by confusing things even more. And while Hawke didn’t realize it, Anders only came up from his obsession when she was present. Merrill brightened ever so slightly under her attention. And perhaps most bizarrely, the Choir Boy even followed her every movement with his eyes, while hovering between two decisions that would remove him from her world. They all loved her in their own way. And perhaps, in her own way, she loved them as well. And none of them would do a damn thing about it.

“Hawke, it gets easier every day.” He lied easily. She smiled back, accepting the lie for the comfort it was meant to be.

“Well I think I’ve drunk quite enough for the evening” she said, sliding the rest of the bottle towards him. “I’d best get some sleep if I’m to visit Gamlen tomorrow without strangling him.”

They eyed each other, the moment a silent hug, the kind born of a friendship of shared pain and a different type of love that perhaps while often less spoken of, was equally enduring. Then they stood to go their different ways.

“Varric…” she said confusedly.  
  
“Yes, Hawke?”

“Why was I sitting on a pickle?”

**Author's Note:**

> If their are any comment fairies out there, I would adore hearing your concrit or kudos! I've been writing this odd little series that is mostly thought after never having written fanfic before. Does anyone else obsess over the interpersonal relationships of this group as much as I do? Because compared to the rest of the DA groups, they spend almost a decade on and off with each other. Yet so little of it actually seems to occur for us. I love considering what is going on in their heads while time passes!


End file.
